Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
WEDNESDAY EVENING, SEPTEMBER 6
I sat in my parked Honda in the center of the driveway as Tim gathered up his tools and Emmy and loaded his car. I gnashed my teeth, recalling how he never took my baby carriage, car seat, or even diaper bag with him when he scooped up our daughter. He had no trouble denying me the little things I’d needed, like a few self-esteem-enhancing cosmetics (too expensive) or vitamins I’d read helped diminish depression (unproven and costly), but apparently hadn’t hesitated to purchase duplicates of the baby gear to avoid any lingering trace of me on them. I resented his attitude, but it was preferable to the idea of the mystery girlfriend snuggling my baby. I couldn’t even think about that.
I reread the text he’d sent me just a half hour earlier. He’d be on vacation for the next week, so he was depositing my living-expense money into my account early. I’d gladly give the cash back if he wouldn’t keep my precious girl for nine whole days. I didn’t know how I’d survive without her. We’d never been apart that long. I desperately hoped the girlfriend wouldn’t join them on the trip.
After Tim pulled away without so much as a wave in my direction, I got out of the Honda and walked back into the little ranch where we’d once—briefly—been happy. I felt the emptiness like a gut punch as I stepped into the living room. As if to ensure Emmy was really gone, I beelined to her room and stood in the doorway staring into her empty crib. My eyes stung and my breath caught in my suddenly dry throat.
I’d need meds to get through the next week. That much was clear. Not only the usual ones, but those special pills that helped me cope in a crisis. The Percocet in the bathroom medicine cabinet.
“Half a pill for you and a half for me,” I mumbled, recalling again how my mother shared everything that way, from vitamins to breath mints. I looked in the mirror over the sink. My hair appeared to have the same shade and twiggy disarray of a sparrow’s nest I’d once spied on our front porch. I’d marveled at the jumble of odds and ends comprising the nest: sticks, grass, laundry lint, even a cigarette butt. I pulled a downy catkin from my bangs and looked at the greasy dark roots on my scalp. When was the last time I’d showered? I couldn’t remember. Maybe Tim was right to deny me costly cosmetics. Would I even remember to use them?
I tossed and turned for hours that night, feeling a migraine coming on. I doubled up on the pills and returned to Emmy’s room, snatching the blanket from her crib. Nestling it against my face as I climbed back into bed, I inhaled deeply and finally drifted into an uneasy sleep with the smell of my child surrounding me.